#I love treating my little guys' anxiety with sweaters it's such an easy fix <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[i-am-literally-deranged]

PLEASE LOOK AT MY SON IN HIS NEW SWEATER 😭

[marvelmando]

history {p. parker x reader}

suggested by @justbetomholland!

notes: hello, it’s currently 3 o’clock in the morning; i’m operating on a total of 8 hours out of the last 48, but everything’s fine! i’m fine! i’m bored! and i was graciously given the suggestion of numbers 28 and 6 from my dialogue prompt list just as i was contemplating forcing myself into a deep sleep under (at least) 10 mg of melatonin, but i decided hey! id rather write! and if anyone else is a writer, you know what i mean when i say when inspiration hits, you go along with it. so here i am, and here is this (probable) mess. i hope you enjoy x.

**also, why do you guys always ask for angsty prompts??? not that im complaining, but sometimes a girl just wants to write a fluff piece!

based on:

6. “You just got stabbed and you wanna know if I’m okay?!”

28. “I’m only good at three things: making ridiculous science puns, laughing at inappropriate times, and making some bomb-ass snickerdoodles. None of them will help me with this.”

from this prompt.

warning: if you couldn’t determine from one of the prompts, this will obviously contain some blood and a little gore.

Sometime around the seventh grade, you were introduced to Peter Parker. You didn’t remember much from the encounter, but you do remember the eruption of bubbles in your stomach like you’d just inhaled a can of soda. That feeling persisted for the solid part of the next three and a half years when you finally admitted to yourself you had a crush on him.

Of course, not long after that, you asked Peter on a date. (You never were really good at suppressing your emotions; once you realized your feelings for him, it was only a matter of time before you confronted him with them.)

Nearly three months later, and you and Peter were still going strong, and it hadn’t been an easy journey of friendship that led to the sticky-sweet romance of adolescence. Between Peter losing Ben and acquiring his powers, you were well-versed in the practice of supporting your best-friend through some of the most challenging parts of his young life.

Incidentally, you were the first to discover his secret second-life, after catching him experimenting with the creation of his web fluid, only weeks after he was bitten by the radioactive spider. You hadn’t seen him in three weeks, after taking a vacation with your family and being swamped by make-up work. You’d barged into his bedroom, troubling homework in hand, only to find a freshly-muscular Peter hunched over the complete disarray of chemistry equipment strewn about his desk.

He didn’t have many excuses for what he was doing, or why he’d gained thirty pounds of muscle in twenty-three days.

He didn’t talk to you for weeks after it happened, only finally opening up about it the night Ben died, when he was feeling angry and hurt and misguided. After that, you became his go-to about everything Spider-Man, even helping him create his first suit made of a sleeveless sweatshirt he found at Goodwill, and a baggy pair of your old blue sweatpants and matching sweater (that were, decidedly, not at all baggy on him).

You distinctly remember the first time he came to you after a particularly rough mugging, in which his chest was marred with deep gouges from a switchblade and he refused to go to the hospital to treat them.

“I can’t, Y/N, what the hell would I say?” Peter had wheezed as you ushered him to your bed, where you’d hastily thrown some towels down before assessing the wounds. “‘Sorry, I was trying to web up this criminal but he caught me by surprise when I realized I’d run out of web fluid’?” He’d hissed when you’d peeled back his bloody sweatshirt (thank God it was red, you remembered thinking). “‘Oh, and don’t worry if the bruise on my eye heals within ten minutes, I also happen to have enhanced regenerative’ - fuck!”

You’d pressed into his wound to stop the blood flow, but also to get him to stop talking. “Peter,” you had snapped, feeling overwhelmed and marginally light-headed by the sheer amount of blood pouring from the gashes. “I can’t do this! I’m - you - I can’t -”

He must’ve seen how white you’d gone, noticed how frightened you were when the words sounded strangled in your throat. “Y/N, there’s no one else.” Despite the obvious pain shining in his eyes, his voice was calm and steady, soothing your frazzled nerves. “You can do this; I trust you.”

You had narrowed your eyes at him, nerves turning into disbelief. “Pete, you don’t understand - I can’t. I would, but I - I can’t just... sew you up!” You said incredulously. “I’m only good at three things: making ridiculous science puns, laughing at inappropriate times, and making some bomb-ass snickerdoodles. None of them will help me with this.”

Peter’d just let out a strangled laugh. “You do make some wicked snickerdoodles.”

You smiled, forgetting yourself in the memory.

“Y/N?” Peter wheezed from where he lied down on your bed, clutching his abdomen. Your eyes snapped down to him, startling into frantic movement again as the anxiety seeped in again. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“You just got stabbed and you wanna know if I’m okay?!” You breathed out a nervous laugh, pressing the towel into the wound.

“It’s not that bad - shit.” The curse slipped as you poured an obscene amount of hydrogen peroxide where the blood had started to dry. Your eyes flicked up to his, amused and haughty. Examining the wound once more, you turned to retrieve the fully-stocked emergency kit you kept in your dresser at all times.

You wiped away the blood, pleased that the stab wound was shallow and had ceased bleeding. “I don’t know why you don’t just go to Mr. Stark, surely he has medics on his team that could fix you up ten times better than I could - and you wouldn’t have to say a word about how you got it.”

When you looked into his eyes, they were warm and smiling, despite the pain he was in. He pushed back the baby hairs framing your forehead with a gloved hand, the strands persistent in the way they always seemed to stick out straight from your head. He did that a lot, and it was one of your favorite things he did, the movement automatically soothing you as you instinctively leaned into his palm, warm even through his suit. You distantly worried if his hand was covered in blood, but you tended to get pretty messy whenever you had to patch him up, and it was nothing a shower couldn’t fix. You focused instead on the adoration shining in his chestnut eyes, dimmed by the darkened room but shining bright with love nonetheless.

“Why would I, when I’ve got you?” Peter said, his voice soft and mellow. You could he was beginning to lose awareness, and you pressed gently on the wound to rouse him.

“Uh, uh, I need you awake for the stitches, mister.” You admonished, grabbing the needle and medical thread you’d... borrowed from the hospital you volunteered at. (After nearly two years of Peter coming to you to get his battle wounds mended, you became increasingly invested in the medical field, and were planning on pursuing a medical degree.)

You replaced your soiled disposable gloves, sanitizing and threading the needle with a practiced hand. Your eyes traveled to the scar from that first time, noting with a critical eye how uneven the scar looked, as your hands shook terribly as you followed along to a YouTube video detailing how to stitch a wound.

“Yes, ma’am.” Peter’s voice was pained.

“You ready?” You asked, lowering the needle to the wound.

When he didn’t answer, you looked up at him. He had paled slightly, eyes wide and frantic, and you could tell his breathing had quickened. He’d never really gotten used to stitches, and you knew he was worse with deeper wounds.

Leaning forward, you pressed a solid kiss to Peter’s lips. He froze, still distracted by the pain and nerves, but almost immediately melted into the kiss, softening the press of his lips against yours. You pulled back slightly, and gently kissed his lower lip, moving to his cheek, pressing slow, soft kisses as you moved across his face.

Finally, you stopped with a peck to the tip of his slightly-crooked nose. Leaning back just enough to look at his entire face, you smiled fondly when you saw how relaxed he looked. He returned the smile, and you pressed one last lingering kiss to the center of his forehead, lips dampened and tasting slightly of salt from the sweat beading there. You wanted to cradle his cheek, but you knew better than to contaminate your gloves any further that they most likely were.

“I love you.” You told him, and even though it wasn’t the first time, Peter’s eyes simultaneously softened and brightened, just as strongly as they had when you did.

“I know,” he replied cheekily, his voice roughened. A grin broke out on your face, head shaking at the reference.

“Ready?” You poised the needle at the wound, waiting for him to nod.

He didn’t hesitate this time. “I trust you.”

With the familiar phrase, you set to work.

[nodamncradle]

1. How has being transgender/nonbinary interacted with or impacted other facets of your identity (e.g. race, religion, socioeconomic status, sexual orientation, etc.)?

So, this is a little bit of a complicated question. I guess first we should establish some groundwork and go from there. I’m white . I was raised practicing Judaism (we converted), and it was a pretty staunch faith. I identified as gay before I came out as trans. I’ve always been pretty poor.  

Now looking how beings trans has impacted that can be done. It hasn’t change my experience as a white person. In terms of religion, I don’t really believe in G*d anymore, I guess I never really did. It always felt silly to pray to someone who hates queers and wasn’t for me. Since I began to reconcile my self with my trans identity I think I came to terms that G*d really wasn’t real, at least not for me. It sucks, but I feel sorta liberated. I feel sorta melancholy, life would probably have a few more answers and meaning if G*d was real, but so it goes, I guess.  I’ve started practicing a form of Buddhism more recently, I don’t know if Nirvana is real or if the Buddha was really enlightened but the practices really help bring some patience and restfulness in my head that seems to always be too full to function. In terms of my sexuality, I don’t identify as gay anymore. I don’t identify as straight either.  Being trans really grounded me in the truth of genitals not being binary, and sexuality being so much more than what’s in your partner’s pants. It feels so inappropriate to call myself straight because I’m a boy who likes girls (a lot), because I also like NB people and queer boys and just…gender and therefore sexuality isn’t as simple as 14 year old lesbian me thought. I identify as queer. It feels a lot more comfortable sweater to wear than lesbian. That always felt wrong to me. I don’t think it has had much of an impact on my socio-economic status much (yet). I’m college, I live on 125 to 300 dollars a month, and that’s just because my job sucks. I think it might in the future though, I am so scared I will never get a good job because I am trans. I think that’s why part of me wants to get passing now and go stealth before grad school, but who know. I’m scared about a lot of things, including this.

2. What have some of your negative experiences related to being transgender/nonbinary been?

My parents don’t accept me, I thought they did but they really, really don’t. They keep basically saying if I treat my depression than my gender dysphoria will go away, but I don’t know about that. I do know I am trans, I have always been trans and I am trying to having to explain that. I cancelled my HRT appointment because they basically said I would disowned if I carried this through. I am scared and sad a lot. I miss my family. I guess another thing would be the misgendering and dead naming me, but that has been a lot less bad that I suspected it would. Sometimes people text me calling me the female version of my name or calling me it and it’s sad and scary but so it goes. I also hate binding my chest, my ribs and spine and neck ache constantly, but I won’t be getting top surgery any time soon (but I also can’t function without it, I feel like my brain is short wiring when I don’t bind).

3. What have some of your positive experiences related to being transgender/nonbinary been?

My friends have been good, my job has been pretty good (they have to be though, Title IX exists). I don’t know. I can’t think of many. I’m trying to and I think when I get further along in my transition I will find some. Right now, I don’t know. I know it exists out there but I haven’t found them yet.

4. If you could tell every cisgender person in the world one thing about trans people/the trans experience, what would it be? (You can have more than one answer.)

No one chooses this, life would be a whole lot easier if I just lived as a woman, I could do so much more. Being trans limits my opportunities so much it scares me, but I can’t do anything about that. It’s not fun to be mocked, not be able to, to have to be on hormones, to have clinical depression because of dysphoria (and also shitty mental health genes), but all those things outweigh the anxiety and anger and uncomfortable-ness that comes with me living as a woman. I’m not a woman, and the thought of living as one makes me very very…well, unsettled, I guess is the word.

Support from cis friends is important, and this isn’t me brown-nosing the cis. If you have a trans friend who is going to use the bathroom, go with them (if they’re comfortable). It’s fucking scary and we need support. Just listen and don’t try to speak on things you don’t understand. Using the right names and terms of endearments makes such a difference. Don’t pander to us about pronouns and things, sometimes being called handsome makes a trans guy real happy and sometimes it makes them real fucking uncomfortable.

5. If you could have a phone conversation with your younger self (whatever age(s) you’d like), what would you say to them?

It’s gonna be okay, we figured it out. Please stop hurting yourself, please stop hating yourself. I know it’s not easy because your sad and miserable and uncomfortable with yourself all the way down to your bones, I know you ache but you have to just try to come to terms with who you are. You’re still going to be you after you transition, that’s what dad says, so try and be okay with laughing too loud, impulse haircuts that are too short and crying when dogs die in the movies. That shit doesn’t go away. I promise it will get better and it’s not perfect and I’m sad too but it’s gonna get better. I wish me from 5 years from now could call me before I called you to see where he’s at, but that can’t happen so you’re stuck with me. You are almost 20, and I know you never thought you could make it to 20, but you did and I am proud of you. I think the most important thing to say to you is I’m sorry and I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you, I’m proud of you. You’re smart and witty and compassionate and I am sorry I was so mean to you. You’re just an angry and sad kid and I am sorry for being so hard on you. I’m gonna work harder to be proud of you and I hope you try harder to take a deep breath and appreciate being. That’s all I’m asking, once a day count the breaths going in and out of you and appreciate them. Not everyone has that, and I know that doesn’t fix the sad or bend the broken but just try it, it helps. Your anger is the manifestation of your sad and just try and dismiss that, it’s the most destructive part of your nature (mom and Thich Nhat Hanh agree).

6. What has your experience with your family been like?

This is a hard and complicated one that I don’t know if I can answer right now. That’s still developing, I just came out to them. They’re processing. Mom is angry, mom doesn’t understand, mom is scared. Mom says she understood who I was before I was even born but I don’t that’s true. If she did she would know that this hurting and pain has been around for as long as I could remember, and I guess what’s worse would be if she knew I was hurting this much and she ignored it. It’s a lose lose. I don’t know.

Dad says it doesn’t matter, me being trans, but he wants me to try harder to be okay with who I am before I transition medically because who I am isn’t going to change, just how I present and so forth. He’s right. I don’t think mom is right.

Mom makes me sad. Mom is trying the best way she knows how. I know that, but it hurts the same way the best she could hurt when I was little. I want her to stop yelling and making fun of me and saying trans people don’t exist and I’m a girl, I want her to just stop. I understand she may never understand but I want her to just try to acclimate and let me exist. I am an adult, if I regret this, why not just let me and move on. That sounds so pissbaby-like but it’s true. She says she’s telling me that cold hard truths that no one else would, but I think she’s just making it where I’m gonna have to choose between family and my transition, and family isn’t enough to keep me from offing myself. That looks terrible typed out. I’m so miserable. I wish she would just accept me. I don’t know if she ever will. She doesn’t believe me. It scares me and makes me sad. It is what it is.

I miss my parents, I miss my brothers and I miss my sisters. I miss being a part of the family instead of the weirdo who comes home every now and then for dinner and ends up depression napping in the middle of the day. I love my family more than anything in the entire fucking world but they can’t take this from me. I never thought I would be the queer kid without a family or home, but I am afraid within the year it will get there. I do not think I will be home for birthdays or Christmas and that makes me very sad. You are afraid of what you don’t understand. I miss my family.

7.What else about being transgender/nonbinary would you like to write about?

Reach out and support each other. This is mainly for FTM and MTF trans people, support NB people. Begging for acceptance from cis people by throwing NB people under the bus doesn’t fix shit, they’re still gonna stomp you in with their boots and not let you piss where you want, not cover your medicines, ect. Just stop, they/them pronouns are valid. NB people are valid and have about as much explaining and justifying to do as you do for being MTF or FTM. Stop using binary behavior and language as standards to justify being the most trans, you’re invalidating feminine trans men and masculine trans women and everything inbetween and I just wanna know for what? A pat on the head from your local cis, fuck that noise. Community is more important that that.

On the same note, protect trans femme people (emphasis on POC). The violence against our community is concentrated against them. Don’t be complacent. Love each other, support each other, care for each other. Help your local trans youth community, if you can. Protect trans youth.  

[sarahburness]

How to Escape the Emotional Eating Cycle and Stop Feeling Lonely

“When you no longer believe that eating will save your life when you feel exhausted or overwhelmed or lonely, you will stop. When you believe in yourself more than you believe in food, you will stop using food as if it were your only chance at not falling apart.” ~Geneen Roth

I used to eat because I was lonely.

Lunch hour at school would last nine billion years. I'd have no one to sit with—I was spotty and mega bossy, and my hobby was copying pages from anthropology books.

Everyone would put a sweater on the chair next to them, so I'd have to sit further away. Then, just as I'd pick up my fork, they'd up and leave anyway! “Oh well,” I'd think, “If I eat slowly I can make my fries last till the bell goes.”

I switched to packed lunches to avoid the dining hall. But I didn't want to be spotted alone on a windowsill, so I'd eat my sandwiches in a toilet cubicle.

After, I'd feel full, but unsatisfied. And still have time to kill! So I'd go to the dinner hall and buy a meat pie. I felt sad and gross.

The truth was, I didn't know how to be a friend, let alone make one. I was full of resentment toward other kids.

I acted superior but felt inferior. I was needy, or tried to impress them.

I didn't think friendship was something people learned—I thought there was something wrong with me. That I'd be this way forever.

I also hated that I couldn't resist overeating. Since my family was big on brown rice and organic vegetables, I felt guilty for buying junk food.

When I hit my teens, I became body-conscious. I panicked that comfort food would make me fat. I wasn't! But I thought my thighs were big, and clenched my stomach in all day. All day!

I felt too embarrassed to ask anyone—especially my parents—or help. I thought they'd say I was greedy. Or lecture me about eating crap. Or take me to a doctor—humiliating!

I didn't know it was called “emotional eating,” but I was pretty sure it was bad. So I kept quiet.

I thought: “I can fix this myself. I just need the self-discipline to eat less!”

Going on improvised diets made things a whole new level of worse: binge eating, bulimia, and feeling utterly obsessed and depressed about food.

It took seven years before I found a way to recover.

I wish I'd known how to deal with lonely emotional eating in the first place, instead of going off on an eating disorder tangent!

So if you're dealing with a double-whammy of eating and loneliness yourself, here are eight simple steps. They will guide you through solving your emotional eating, and your loneliness, from the inside out.

1. Imagine your life without emotional eating, and shift focus away from guilt and shame.

You're not greedy. You're not gross. You're not ill. You're just trying to cope with a fear: abandonment.

It's the emotional fear we're born with. Outside the tribal circle, a baby would die. The primitive part of your brain thinks, “I'm alone—I'll starve!”

It's how you're wired, so give yourself a break.

If you waste your energy wrestling with guilt and shame over eating, you'll never tackle the real emotional challenge—loneliness.

So when guilt and shame come up, shift your focus.

Imagine a peaceful relationship with food. Imagine eating when you're actually hungry. Visualize slowly nourishing yourself.

2. Loneliness is a self-worth issue, so become willing to work on your self-worth.

It's like this: You're by yourself. That's not loneliness, that's solitude.

Sometimes it's nice, but sometimes you don't have a choice. Uh-oh!

Mind games start: you imagine it's because you're unlovable.

That's loneliness. Low self-worth, in disguise.

If you're lonely, it's easy to think you could earn your self-worth back by changing something external.

You think, “If I found a great partner, then I'd know I was lovable.”

Or you think, “I'll be worth loving once I get a grip on my emotional eating and lose weight.”

But that's not how it works! Self-worth isn't something you earn. Or that drops in your lap either.

You choose to create it.

So ask yourself: How can I work on my self-worth?

(Don't worry if you don't know yet. Some ideas are coming up…)

3. Spend some quality time with yourself.

Are you enjoying your time by yourself? Or just watching TV?

Imagine you treated a child the way you treat yourself on a too-tired evening.

Browsing Facebook when they say, “Play with me.” Sending them to the fridge to scavenge instead of cooking dinner. Binge-watching Netflix instead of putting them to bed when they're tired.

They'd feel hurt, and start believing they weren't worth spending time with. They'd also start misbehaving wildly to get your attention!

The same is true for how you feel about yourself. When we ignore our inner selves, start to believe we are worthless, and an emotional eating crisis is a great way for our heart and soul to grab our attention.

Spend some quality time with yourself.

Take yourself on a date, just you and you.

Play (build a go-cart, paint your room), be in your body (move, bathe, meditate), or relax (read, whistle, sit in nature).

Self-worth grows as you self-connect, so every little counts.

4. Create thoughts that give an inkling of self-worth.

When I was rock bottom with food and loneliness, my thoughts were dominated by failure, being a victim, and believing change was impossible.

Stuff like “I'm gonna be lonely forever,” and “I hate my body, I hate myself for eating, and I'm too pathetic to stop.”

Three positive thoughts in particular helped me out of my pit.

They didn't tell me directly I was worthy or fabulous—saying anything saccharine about my life would have felt like gloss painting a turd.

They just implied a basic level of self-worth.

They were: “I'm part of life unfolding.” (I'm not in a vacuum. Even though I feel totally dissociated and alone, I'm still participating in life on the planet.)

“I really care about my body.” (I'm upset I overate again. But I couldn't get upset if I were indifferent… So on some level, I must care!)

And: “Things are already changing.” (Repeating this phrase is a positive action… So maybe I won't always be like this).

Find one thought that implies you aren't your worst fears. That makes you feel worthy-ish. Then repeat it like you're being paid a piece rate to do so.

5. Explore how you've created loneliness.

Try this: It's funny!

Imagine someone wants to master the art of loneliness. Lucky for them, you've honed the perfect system!

Write down what you'd teach them.

My own Perfect System for Staying Lonely says: “Don't have a calendar for friends' birthdays. Tell yourself that you're too broke to buy gifts, cards, or book a babysitter.”

And: “Get hired for shift work, and rehearse theatre shows every weekend.” I disconnected from my relationship like that that for the first five years of my marriage! (Thankfully, the guy's a legend.)

The point is, I thought loneliness happened to me.

But I make myself lonely, when I don't need to be. Years after my schooldays are behind me, I lead myself back to that painful-yet-familiar place. It's called a comfort zone.

It doesn't mean it's your fault you're lonely—this isn't about blame. This is actually good news: If you're doing it, you can undo it.

6. List everything that your loneliness buys you.

An excuse not to face trust issues?

A reason to avoid intimacy?

A cover for social anxiety?

I know it's not obvious that loneliness has advantages, but sometimes it's a way to avoid something even more scary or painful.

Me? Loneliness excuses me from owning my introvert personality. Intimacy makes me feel vulnerable, and rejection scares the crap outta me.

These hidden benefits to your loneliness are called “payoffs.” It pays off to explore them!

Because they're the reason you're creating loneliness, even though it hurts.

7. Explore the ripple effect of loneliness in your life.

You'd expect loneliness to make you shy at parties, or reluctant to date.

But has it changed you in other ways?

Unhealthy self-reliance has made me a nightmare to cook with. And low self-worth has taken its toll on my financial outlook.

Clean out your worldview.

Defy your loneliness-inspired beliefs about what you can and can't do (like, ask someone to chop the mushrooms while you stir the risotto, or ask your boss for a raise).

It's a great way to un-victim yourself.

8. Finally, when you've done all that inner work, break up your emotional eating habit.

Habits weld to each other! Drinking and smoking. Driving and talking to yourself in a variety of accents. Lonely emotional eating and—?

Break the links.

Don't just say to yourself “Stop eating toast.” Don't make any rules about what you eat.

Instead, change how you eat. If you don't know how you eat, slow down.

Notice what you do at each stage of your emotional eating habit—beforehand, during, after, where, when, with what planning.

Do any part of your habit differently.

Say you eat ten slices of buttered toast and jam in front of the TV each evening. Buy different butter that you don't like so much. Put the TV (or the toaster) in the cellar. Create an eating area, keep the sofa for relaxing. Shop differently. Go out.

Keep disrupting your habit, and it will eventually dissipate.

Habit change takes patience, and sometimes repeated attempts too.

But break up your habit from enough angles, and you'll eventually find you've replaced it with a way to enjoy food again.

—

The way I think of it, addressing loneliness is 88 percent of the solution for emotional eating from loneliness.

When I solved my eating struggles, I spent a couple of years of journaling and becoming aware of my beliefs, thoughts, and feelings. Then, only a month or two of habit change.

I know a couple of years sounds really long! Perhaps it will take less time for you. The point is, this isn't a quick fix. Quick fixes rarely address the underlying issues.

It's tempting to rush. To try to skip straight to solving the eating—out-of-control eating feels unbearable and you want it to stop, like, yesterday—but if that hasn't been working for you, or you've even ended up binge eating like I did, give yourself permission and time to go deeper.

Trust me, changing an emotional eating habit is much easier when it's just eating, and the compulsion part has had your loving attention.

So good luck, and don't rush.

About Laura Lloyd

Laura Lloyd is a food sanity coach, as well as an illustrator. You can grab a FREE copy of her book, “How to Ditch Dieting, Love Your Body and Be Your Best Weight Always,” here!

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